


contains multitudes

by Lise



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hurt Loki, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, Loki's a goddamn mess, Mind Control, POV Loki, don't look for a plot there isn't one, ended up being a lot more about Clint and Loki than I was expecting, some minor body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 19:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10256636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: A Bifrost shattering leaves shards. Some of those shards find a mark.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I can't actually find the prompt this was for, but ages and ages ago _someone_ (let me know if you remember, I'd love to credit you) prompted me for a fic where a shard of the Bifrost wounds Loki at the end of Thor. I feel like this is probably not exactly the fic they had in mind - heck, it's not the fic _I_ had in mind when I started writing - but it's a fic nonetheless. And any excuse to beat up Loki, and also any excuse to write about Clint and Loki's spectacularly weird relationship. 
> 
> Thanks to [ameliarating](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com) for her careful beta-ing job. Any further forgotten words or missing commas (or plot holes) are all mine.

He didn’t notice that anything was wrong, at first. 

He’d gone utterly numb – or at least it felt like it. All feeling ebbed away into blank nothingness, and so it was perfectly fitting to let the Void swallow him whole because he was already gone. _No, Loki._ It was over, it had been over before he’d even begun, it had been over when he’d been left abandoned on the ice only to be snatched up for the Norns’ games. 

But then it wasn’t: he fell, and fell, and distance and time lost meaning, physical form lost meaning, and the numbness seeped through him until he was nothing but a hard, bitter core, and he would have welcomed something, anything-

He found it, at the bottom. Or it found him. And then everything was pain, for a while, and when your flesh was being stripped from bone it was hard to notice much else. 

So he didn’t notice anything for some time. Did not think about the Bifrost, shattering, shards of its elegant curve flying from Thor’s hammer blows.

* * *

He felt wretched. 

The travel through the portal – harnessing the power of the Tesseract to his will – had taken a great deal of energy, and the claiming of his servants more. He stumbled, exiting the underground chamber, but one of them caught him. Loki shook off the support, even if a part of him was touched. 

Most of him simply throbbed with pain. 

He heaved himself into the back of one of their chariots and found that he needed to lean against the back of the cab. Barton, the one he’d chosen (for his _heart,_ loyalty and obstinacy in the face of certain defeat, Loki could sympathize), hitched in his stride for just a moment, looking at Loki like he wanted to say something, but then someone emerged asking questions and the shooting started. 

Loki became aware, gradually, that there was a painful throb that accompanied every inhale. He pressed his hand to his side, under his ribs, as they peeled away from the facility, but he found nothing: no bullet had pierced his shields and armor, and there was no wound he could feel. 

He pushed the oddity away, focusing on managing their pursuit. Or rather, decimating. 

Once they were dealt with, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. There was a great deal he had to do, and most likely not a lot of time in which to do it. He inhaled through his nose only to stop halfway through, breath catching at the sharp pain that provoked. It was strange – like a knife in his side, but not quite. Deeper, somehow, and there was a strange kind of…wrongness, to it. 

They had stopped, he realized abruptly. He sat up, looking around, but he could not see any reason for them to have halted. Barton came around to the back and looked worriedly up at him. 

“Sir,” he said. “You should come up into the front.” Loki blinked at him. “It’s warmer,” Barton said. “And safer.” He frowned slightly. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Loki said stiffly. He could not afford to be. He pushed himself up. “In the front, you say?” So more like a carriage than a chariot. 

“Sure,” Barton said. “You’ll be more comfortable there.” 

Loki stumbled climbing down, and Barton caught his arm, supporting him. The pain in his side seemed to have intensified, twisting like something was trying to work its way out of him – or deeper in. Loki looked at Barton’s eyes, filmed over with blue. “You have done well,” he said.

Barton’s expression was nearly ecstatic. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “It’s the least I can do. Whatever you need.”

Loki was briefly uncertain if he wanted to laugh or weep. He settled for laying his hand lightly on Barton’s cheek and summoning a faint smile. “Very good,” he said. “Yes. I will reward your faithful service.” 

He climbed into a seat in the front of the car, shunting Selvig into the back seat. He was clutching the case holding the Tesseract like someone might take it away from him, his expression one of rapt awe. Loki closed his eyes and leaned his head back. 

“You can sleep if you need to,” Barton said, almost kindly. 

“No,” Loki said. “There isn’t time. I need you to tell me everything you know.”

* * *

He slipped into sleep at some point during the long drive, and woke up to Barton giving him a gentle shake with a coat draped over him. When he moved he gasped at the sharp burning under his ribs. Whatever it was, it felt like it had grown – expanded, somehow. Both Barton and Selvig jumped simultaneously. 

“Sir?” Barton said, sounding uncertain. Loki jerked his head to the side. 

“Where are we?” 

“Somewhere we can hide out while I track down and recruit soldiers,” Barton said promptly. “That’s what you need, right?” He paused and added, “along with a good meal and some more sleep.” 

“No,” Loki said again. “I should not have slept to begin with.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Let us go. No doubt your former employers are already moving to arrange their counterattack.” 

“It’ll take some time yet,” Barton said. “And if you just tell me what you need-“

“I do not want to sleep,” Loki snapped. Barton flinched, and Loki almost regretted speaking shortly. “I do not need it,” he said quickly. Nor did he think he could eat. “I need to assist Mr. Selvig with the Tesseract. It requires careful handling.” 

“Yes,” Selvig said, nearly ecstatic. “Yes, of course.” Barton did not look pleased. Envious, Loki thought, and could have smiled. 

“I am sure you will be able to handle yourself ably,” he added, and the displeasure melted away. 

_Yes,_ he thought. _This is good. You are loyal only to me. Faithful servants._

It might be false, but it was what he had. 

He almost stumbled stepping out of the car. His leg on the left side had briefly gone numb, the oddest feeling like it had gone somewhere else. He regained his footing quickly, however, and seemingly without anyone noticing. 

_I cannot falter now,_ he thought savagely. _I cannot fail._ But he _was_ faltering. 

He needed to work faster. There might not be much time, and he doubted that forgiveness would be forthcoming if he was delayed.

He managed to keep his knees locked walking into the long abandoned bunker to which Barton had brought them. He claimed it was a secret even from SHIELD and Loki did not think he could lie, so at least as far as he knew it must be. He retreated a little apart, veiled himself from sight, and shed enough of his armor that he could examine his side. 

The skin was smooth, unmarked. He ran his fingers over where he felt the pain and hissed as a pulse of it shivered through his body, deep into his core. He could feel no heat, though, or tension in the muscles that would suggest damage within. There was a thin scar, perhaps, and Loki traced it slowly with a fingertip. 

So slight, he thought. Like nothing. 

He needed it to be nothing. If not…

_If you should fail…_

Loki tugged his clothing back on and strode back out. Barton turned, his expression relieved. “There you are,” he said. “Where’d you go?” 

“Is it for you to question me?” Loki said, a little more sharply than necessary. Barton stiffened, straightening and dropping his eyes. 

“No, sir,” he said.

“Good,” Loki said sternly. “We have work to do.”

He ignored the shiver that ran through his body, a brief feverish chill echoed by another twist in his side.

* * *

He woke up with a jerk and felt a flash of anger at himself for falling asleep – he could not even remember lying down. The anger only lasted a moment, though, because his left leg had gone numb again. And more than that - the feeling had spread up through his side, but not enough to keep him from being aware of what felt like a hole boring through him. His skin was dry but Loki felt feverish, dizzy, and when he turned on his side his stomach lurched. He fumbled to pull his clothes out of the way and stared at a patch of skin, the size of his fist, that seemed to be...glowing. 

Even as he looked at it it pulsed with light and this time he _felt_ it - expand. He pressed a hand over his mouth to muffle his cry, breathing through his nose in shallow, ragged pants.

“Sir?” Barton’s voice, and Loki could scarcely move. He _needed_ to move. “Are you all right?” 

_No, you fool. Don’t you have eyes?_

Barton was already at his side, though, placing one hand on his forehead. It felt blessedly cool. “You’re hot.” He pulled Loki’s hand away and hissed. “You _are_ hurt. Should’ve checked earlier - what _is_ that?” 

“I don’t. Don’t know.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “The plan needs to move forward. We need to…”

“All due respect, sir, but you don’t look like you’re going anywhere.” Barton’s voice was quiet, but firm. Loki opened his eyes and looked at him, and Barton flinched but pressed on. “I can’t protect you and do the mission.”

 _The latter is more important,_ Loki wanted to say, but that was not how the spell had worked. He’d made Barton too loyal. To _him_ and not to his (not his) goal. 

“You need a doctor,” Barton said. “I can send someone to find you one. You don’t look good at all.”

“It’s in me,” Loki said. “Chewing a hole through...something growing.” Something was familiar about that light. About the faint singing he could just hear. 

“ _Growing?_ ” Barton sounded alarmed. “What? Never mind. A doctor. I can kill them after if you need me to but you need help.”

 _Help._ Loki twisted, grimacing. _I need to get up. Need to keep moving, keep…_

“No,” he said, pushing himself to sitting and then slowly to his feet. His side throbbed but he gritted his teeth and waited until it ebbed a little away. “No, we go on.”

Barton’s expression flickered with doubt. “Sir-”

“Don’t question me,” Loki snapped. If this was Thanos’ doing...perhaps it was his way of making sure Loki hurried. “Just do it. I’ll get you your eye. You’ll come find me after. You obey _me,_ Clint Barton. Not the other way around.”

Barton ducked his head quickly, apprehension and shame plain on his face. “Yes, sir,” he said.

Loki was proud of himself for keeping his back straight as he strode out, even if every time his foot landed he wanted to scream. He pushed the pain down and shut it away to be dealt with later. Later, or never. Later when he was dead. 

* * *

He made it as far as the outside of the opera house before his knees gave out. He sat down on the steps and started laughing, watching the people fleeing in panic. His head spun and the only way he could be certain his leg was still there was by looking at it. The skin on his side felt paper thin, like whatever was inside him was only hairs away from breaking through. 

_You miscalculated,_ he thought dizzily. But he no longer thought this was Thanos’ doing, not really. Maybe he had known, and maybe not. 

Loki thought he knew what it was, now. He could remember, only just, the Bifrost shattering, a stabbing pain briefly in his side before the howl of the Void took over. A piece of a portal embedded inside him. Tearing his atoms slowly apart. What mortals called a wormhole in miniature, trying to pull him through a little at a time. 

The soldier approached him cautiously, seeming disconcerted. Loki looked at him sidelong, smiling faintly. “You are right on time,” he said. “For once.”

The man’s face froze. “Are you gonna try to fight,” he said. 

“Against the lot of you?” Loki said, glancing up toward the hovering aircraft. “I wouldn’t dare.” 

Now the soldier was looking at him even more oddly, eyes narrowed. “What’s your game?” He asked. 

“My game,” Loki echoed. “Do you know, I don’t think I have one anymore.” He managed not to gasp as the piece of the Bifrost pulled another little piece of him away. Or maybe it was other worlds seeping into him. He grimaced, turning his head to spit out a mouthful of blood. He’d wondered how long he had before that started. 

When he looked back at the soldier, his eyes had widened. “What’s wrong with you?” He demanded. 

“Isn’t that just the question,” Loki said. He raised his eyebrows. “Shall we get on with this?” 

The soldier was staring at him and frowning. “You’re hurt,” he said. “What – how?” 

“Hey Cap,” Loki heard as a man in a red and gold suit of armor landed heavily behind him, “stop chatting and let’s get this show on the road!”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Loki murmured, and smiled when the soldier gave him a sharp look.

* * *

Loki sat down without argument and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. The soldier and the man in armor were talking with the pilot – her he recognized as the one Barton called (fondly) Natasha. They were not speaking quietly enough. 

“He coughed up blood,” the soldier, Rogers, was saying. “And have you taken a look at him? Something’s wrong. I couldn’t see any wounds, and I didn’t touch him, but…”

“It seems like a trap to me,” Natasha - Romanov, if he remembered right - said. “Giving up that easy, feigning weakness – sounds about right for someone who’s supposed to be a trickster god.” 

Loki smiled faintly. It was faintly gratifying to be overestimated. 

“What are you smiling at?” The man in armor, Stark, said sharply. Loki opened one eye and regarded him without answering. He wondered what would happen to Barton if he died. Would the compulsion linger, as long as the scepter endured? Or die with him?

“I don’t like it,” Rogers said. More loudly, this time to Loki, he said, “If you’re hurt, we can help.”

“I doubt it,” Loki said, more to himself than to them. He closed his one eye again and twitched at the feeling of something tearing loose. His thoughts stuttered and tripped over one another, and he thought he might have heard thunder in the distance. Perhaps Thor was here for him.

If he was lucky, the Bifrost shard would kill him, or Thor would, before Thanos knew he had failed.

Loki slumped back in his seat. Inside him, the new Bifrost burned. He tasted copper.

“Hey,” Rogers said, sounding alarmed. “I think he’s gonna-” 

Loki lost the rest of what he was saying. Perhaps he should tell them about Barton. Or Selvig. 

It did not seem worth the effort.

* * *

Things were…foggy. And bright. And he _hurt,_ enough that he might have screamed, only all that came out was a thin whimpering sound like a half-drowned kitten.

It felt as though half of him was _here_ and half...elsewhere, in between, like he was fading out of the world and also being ripped in twain. Like his body could not decide if it was solid matter or not.

“What did you do to him?” That sounded like Thor’s voice, angry. Odd. Loki could not remember his arrival, and surely it must have been...loud. 

“Do to _him?_ He killed sixty of our people within ten minutes of getting here.” The Director, Nick Fury. Loki remembered him. Pity Loki had not cared to be certain he was dead. “Whatever’s wrong with him, don’t look at us.”

Loki could have told them, but he could not quite connect his brain to his tongue. He could almost feel the shard of the Bifrost in him, now, pulsing away. Pulling away. 

“Then explain how my brother is _dying,_ ” Thor said. Loki might have smiled at the distress in his voice. Almost a relief to hear. Perhaps it was simply the loss of the chance to kill Loki himself - he hardly made a suitable opponent, like this - but he could at least pretend.

“Whatever did this isn’t any weapon I’m familiar with,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Look. It’s like it’s...he’s...translucent. Partly.” Someone was touching his ribs, hands close to the center of the pain, and he felt something-

It was the oddest sensation. Like someone sticking their fingers inside him, but it didn’t hurt. Hurt more. _Careful, you’ll get pulled in,_ he thought, but they’d already yanked away with an alarmed shout. 

“What the-” The armored man. “Did your hand just go _through his skin?_ ”

How fitting, Loki thought. Becoming immaterial. A ghost in truth. He wondered if Thanos’s leash could still hold him, if his atoms drifted apart. Something tugged, burst, and blood filled the back of his throat. He choked on it, convulsing, and someone turned him hastily to his side where he could cough it out. 

“I need to take him back to Asgard,” Thor said urgently. “At once.”

 _How,_ Loki thought. _I don’t have the Tesseract and neither do you. The Bifrost must still be broken or you would not be here alone._ He said nothing, eyes drifting open a hair, staring at his surroundings without interest. 

“You can’t get back without the Tesseract, I thought,” said the armored man. Thor said nothing.

“Wait,” said the soldier’s voice. “I think I can - see something. Embedded in the...wound, whatever it is. If that’s what’s causing the problem-”

“You want to cut open the alien and pry out whatever’s causing _that?_ ” The armored man sounded incredulous. 

“You want to do _what,_ ” Thor growled. 

“You said it yourself,” said the soldier. “He’s dying. We don’t know what it is, but-”

“No,” Thor said suddenly, and his voice sounded closer. “I think...now that I look at it. I think I do know what it is. I think it is a piece of the Bifrost.” 

“The Bifrost,” said the unfamiliar voice. “That’s...the Einstein-Rosen Bridge. You mean that’s - a _piece_ of a wormhole?” 

Their voices faded out, blurring into mumbles that Loki could not distinguish. Loki did not close his eyes quickly enough not to see Thor when he crouched down and touched Loki’s face. “Brother,” he said. “I will help you. I will save you.” 

_No,_ Loki thought. _You won’t._ He found himself smiling, faintly. More blood dribbled out of his mouth and he barely noticed the taste.

* * *

Someone was screaming. No, he was. There was a great weight pressing down on his shoulders, another holding his ankles as he tried to thrash away from them both. Someone was digging a blunt pickaxe into his side and twisting it around. He flashed from hot to cold to hot again, his leg going numb and then agony searing up and down his left side. 

“Hurry,” someone said, strained. Loki’s spine strained so he thought it might break. Thor was murmuring something, or at least it sounded like his voice: “hang on, Loki, let us help you, let me…”

“Got it,” someone said, and started trying to pull his insides out through his skin.

Or that was how it felt. His whole body shook and his voice broke, unable to scream, a high thin sound through his nose the only noise he could make. _Norns let me die let me die let me-_

It was over. He could hear something singing. Someone? No, something. His mouth was full of blood that gurgled as he panted. If the pain before had been bad, this was worse, his body suddenly remembering that it was matter.

Enough was enough. He gave in, hoping that there was oblivion so deep that Thanos and the Chitauri could not find him. 

* * *

Something tugged distantly at his consciousness, pulling weakly at his mind, but there was not enough of him for it to get a grip. It was enough to wake him, though, to low and distant murmuring. 

“—will take some time to arrange a way home,” Thor was saying. “We could use the Tesseract but I would sooner wait a couple more days. It is not a gentle method of travel, and I am not…not certain what effect it might have on Loki.”

Loki supposed it was possible that was what had brought the Bifrost shard to life in the first place. The Tesseract awakening its weaker kin. 

It didn’t much matter. 

“And Barton? Selvig?” The Director sounded tense. Were they still his, then? 

“When Loki wakes I will see to it he releases them both.” Thor’s voice was firm. 

“Better be fast,” the Director said. “Barton specifically just keeps getting antsier.”

So they hadn’t gone forward with the plan without his orders, Loki thought vaguely. Or had the artificial concern for his well-being overtaken his stated aim of breaking Loki free? He let his eyes open, slowly, and focused on the Director instead of Thor. “You may as well let him in,” he said. His voice felt rough and sounded worse. “I don’t know what you told him, but I doubt it will hold him back for long.”

Both the Director and Thor were silent, and then both started talking at once. Loki closed his eyes and ignored them both. He felt too tired to attempt verbal sparring with either one of them, let alone both. 

At length they seemed to realize that he was not responding and both fell silent. “Brother?” Thor said at length, and Loki tried not to flinch. 

“No,” he said flatly. “Not yours.” He would rather speak to the Director, but he was not certain he wanted to know what the man might do without Thor’s supervision. It seemed Thor was not going to let him die, after all. At least not yet. Which meant – galling as it might be – Loki had to rely on his protection. 

If it was just a matter of _living,_ it might be more of a difficult question. But Loki did not think he wanted to find out what the man Fury would do with an alien being under his power. Mortals could be so peculiarly savage. 

“Loki,” Thor said after a moment. “What did you say of those men you have twisted to your will?” 

_‘Twisted’ is a matter of perspective_ , Loki had the sense not to say. 

“At the moment, you are their enemy, because you are mine,” he said. “And I – their master – am in your hands. Hardly a situation likely to breed ease of mind in loyal men.” It made him feel short of breath, speaking so much. He managed not to pant. 

“Loyal,” Fury said flatly. Loki did not bother to repeat what he had said. Let the man take it as mockery; he had meant it as truth. 

“Yes,” he said. “Be careful with my scepter. It will not be kind to anyone attempting to use it.” He could just imagine how displeased his own masters must be with his failure. They might pull the first person to touch the weapon back along lines made for him, and even if a human mind could endure the journey…

The prospect of his masters’ displeasure probably ought to frighten him. Loki did not feel quite capable of summoning the proper terror. 

His body felt solid again, and rather as though it regretted being so. Loki thought he felt the same way. 

“Fine,” Fury said after a moment. “Any other helpful suggestions?” His tone sounded true to his name. Loki might have smiled, if he felt just a bit more inclined to be foolish.

“Go tell Barton that I am mending and ask him to wait a few hours more.” He could send that message himself, but just now he felt too shattered and exhausted to try. Barton might believe Fury, or he might not. But he shouldn’t be stupid enough to get himself killed. 

He could feel Fury’s eye staring at him, but after a long moment he exhaled and walked away. Loki could hear his heavy bootsteps retreating, and a door that beeped open and then closed. 

He was alone with Thor. 

_So,_ he almost said. _The Allfather sends you now to retrieve two coveted artifacts and one wayward pet, is that it? Now he decides that I matter enough, or at least the Tesseract does._ He kept his jaw clamped shut.

“Loki,” Thor said, and stopped, and sighed. “What you have done…what you meant to do…”

“Do you have the Tesseract?” Loki interrupted. Thor hesitated. 

“It has been retrieved, along with the scepter that you used to…who gave that thing to you?” 

“A friend,” Loki said, and rasped a laugh whose humor Thor would not understand. “You have what you want, then. Shouldn’t you be taking both home to mighty Asgard?”

“Not yet,” Thor said after a moment. A chair scraped back; so he had been sitting. “You should rest further, Loki. You are not yet well.”

“What gave you that idea,” Loki said. His laugh this time turned into a cough that hurt. Thor did not respond. 

Almost, Loki wished the shard of Bifrost had finished its work faster. 

Perhaps a little more than ‘almost.’

* * *

He slept restlessly and poorly. Now and again he could feel Thanos – or perhaps the Other, though what difference was there – reaching out to try to drag his mind back by the figurative scruff of his neck. No doubt they wanted a conversation, but it seemed he was far enough away from the scepter to make that impossible. 

Loki could not say he was inclined to change that state of affairs. No, he had failed, and he was largely resigned to that fact. 

He might sleep poorly, but it was also just about all that he did. Loki was not sure if the sound of arguing woke him or if it was just well timed to hear Barton’s raised voice. 

Ah, yes, Loki thought. Those loose ends. 

“—have to back off and let me see him,” Barton was saying loudly, frustration and anxiety radiating through the magic connecting them. Someone answered more quietly, but Barton’s response to them was certainly audible: “Damn right I don’t trust you. Why would I? I know what you people do.”

“You have my word that Loki will come to no harm,” Thor said gravely. 

“What’s your word to me?” Barton snapped, and Loki almost smiled. “I – he’s awake.” He interrupted himself, and Loki opened his eyes. He’d forgotten that link ran both ways. He didn’t try to push himself up, though, half listening to the argument about whether or not Barton would be allowed to come.

When the door opened, though, it was only Thor. Loki found that he was disappointed. 

That was dangerous. He had to remember that Barton wasn’t his _friend._ Would not even be his servant, either, before long.

“Send him in,” Loki said. Thor looked startled, but Loki just gave him a grim smile. “We may as well get this over with.”

“Are you well enough?” Thor asked. Loki bared his teeth in what he hoped looked vaguely like a smile. 

“I have never been better.”

After too long a moment, Thor nodded and stepped back out. Loki leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling, pushing everything he felt down and away. 

The door opened again. “Sir,” Barton said, his voice almost vibrating. To Thor, seemingly, and more harshly, “you said you were _helping._ He looks like shit. What the hell have you been-” 

Loki was suddenly glad he couldn’t see his own face. “Barton,” he said quietly. He stopped talking almost mid-breath. 

“I came as soon as I could,” he said, sounding defensive. “Assholes kept telling me to _wait._ Are you-”

“Fine,” Loki said. He hoped his voice sounded soothing, sure. Come here.” Barton came, of course, and knelt. Worry etched in his forehead. 

“I know the mission’s shot,” he said, “and I’m sorry, but I could feel – they said you were dying and they could help. I couldn’t-” He sounded anguished. 

Loki shook his head slightly. “You did well.” 

“If you’d let me help-”

“Hush,” Loki said. “There was nothing you could have done.” His smile felt bitter. “But I promised to repay you. I keep my promises.” 

Barton frowned. “It can wait, sir. Until you’re well.” 

There was some cruelty, Loki thought, to Thor’s witnessing this. Seeing what he wanted, what he had forced a mortal to give in desperation. What Thor had always had so easily. Loyalty, and love. 

Perhaps he could keep him, Loki thought. Alter the spell just enough, but leave the loyalty, the affection-

_No._

“It cannot wait,” Loki said. He raised his hands. “I owe you this.”

Barton let Loki take his head between his hands without hesitation. Trusting. 

He withdrew the tendrils of magic slowly from Barton’s mind, careful to be delicate about it. It tugged against him, not quite willing to release on his command without the benefit of the scepter, but eventually obeyed, slithering free. Loki let his hands fall away and dropped back, eyes closed and wearied by the effort. For a moment he felt the shudder of their connection, a second longer – and then it was gone. 

There was a brief pang of loss. He said nothing and kept his eyes closed. 

“Shit,” he heard. “Fuck – _fuck._ ” 

_I am sorry,_ Loki thought, but the words stuck in his throat. Perhaps later. 

“You _bastard-_ ”

Ah, Loki thought, he wished he were not awake for this part. 

“You should probably go,” Thor said. “I am sorry. But my brother is still recovering.”

Barton, oddly, hesitated. Perhaps he had more spleen he wished to vent; Loki would have expected him to want to be out of Loki’s presence as quickly as possible. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Right. Sure.” 

The door closed behind him. Loki focused on breathing rather than regret. 

“Loki,” Thor said, and then stopped. Loki did not respond, holding his silence and waiting. “You will need to free Selvig as well,” he said finally.

“I am aware,” Loki said dully. Thor sighed. 

“Loki…will you look at me?” 

_Do I have a choice,_ Loki thought about asking, but instead just opened his eyes and looked at Thor. It was not hard to keep feeling off his face: he was too weary for any of it. Thor’s eyebrows were drawn together. “The last I saw you…I thought you were dead, Loki. We all thought you were dead. And then when I came here – I found you dying.” His smile was tremulous, strained. “It is – cruel of you, to make me think that I would lose you twice over.”

 _You did not_ lose _me,_ a part of Loki wanted to say, _you cast me aside, forsaken, happy to forget –_ but what Thor was saying made it sound as though he had not known. Was it possible…

 _No,_ Loki thought ruthlessly. _Do not let them back in. Do not let your heart soften._ But he was so tired, and Thor so close. It was easy to forget why he needed to hold him at arm’s length. 

“All done solely to inconvenience you,” he said flatly. Thor seemed to take it for a jest, or else laughed weakly. 

“When you are well,” he said, “we will go home, and-”

“Your home,” Loki interrupted. “Not mine.”

“Yours,” Thor said, more firmly. “Ours. Your place at our table has stood empty a year. Mother tends the tree she planted in your name every day. Father grieves. _I_ have grieved.” 

Hammer blows on the wall he had so painstakingly built. That he had _needed_ to build. 

“You still have a home,” Thor said. “You need only come back to it.”

“If only it were that simple,” Loki said, closing his eyes once more. 

“It is,” Thor said, with all the force of his conviction, that had always been strong enough to bend the world. Loki had teased before: _if Thor says it, it must be so._

That simple. _If Thor says it, it must be so._

If only he could still believe that.

* * *

Loki came awake sharply at the realization that someone was in the room with him. He sat up, biting back a groan at the feeling that his insides were pulling themselves apart, and froze when he saw who it was. 

Barton looked coolly back at him, his expression blank. He appeared unarmed, but Loki was well aware how many weapons could be easily concealed, and if he was not easy to kill it would not be impossible in this state. Thor was gone, and for once Loki wished he would come back. 

Leaning back too casually, Barton continued to stare at him. Not looking away - too deliberately, Loki realized. He was forcing himself not to look away, even though he wanted to. 

Pettily, that made him feel a bit better, though it did not make the possibility that Barton meant to attack him less likely. More likely, maybe.

“What do you want,” Loki said after several long moments of silence. His voice rasped slightly. “If you are here to attack me-”

“I’m not,” Barton said, though something in his voice suggested he’d thought about it. “Fury was pretty clear about that not being allowed. You’re lucky.” 

Loki supposed that was one word for it. “Then what,” he said harshly. Barton being here made him aware again of the dull hollow feeling that came with the loss of the connection between them. It had been what he had no matter how false it had been, and monstrous as it might be he missed it. 

Barton shrugged one shoulder. “Haven’t decided.” 

_I am sorry,_ Loki thought again, but again he swallowed it. “I see.” He pushed himself the rest of the way upright, even if his body screamed. An odd expression flickered across Barton’s face. 

“Lie back down,” he said flatly. “You’re not going to impress me.” He was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward slightly. Still not looking away, scarcely blinking. “What you did to me. It’s gone. Right?” His voice was suddenly fervent, intense.

“It is gone.” Loki kept the words simple, and Barton nodded firmly.

“You had no right,” he said, voice quivering briefly. “ _No_ right. To do that. To hack into my head and make me your _puppet,_ make me-”

“I am aware,” Loki interrupted, before he could get going. “It was never a question of _right._ It was a question of necessity. Not,” he added after a moment, “that that makes it better.” So Barton was not going to attack him except with words, it seemed. Loki wished that he would leave. 

“They should have let you die,” Barton said savagely. Loki closed his eyes. _You might have died as well,_ he thought, and on top of that, _I might say the same._ He stayed silent, and Barton fell quiet as well, though Loki could hear him breathing hard.

“Who were you talking to?” He asked, suddenly. Loki stilled. “Who was giving you orders?” 

“It doesn’t matter now,” Loki said after a moment. “Without the Tesseract, they will not trouble you.”

“Are they going to come after you?”

Loki opened his eyes and turned his head. Barton’s eyes were hard. _There will be no realm, no barren moon, where he can’t find you._ Loki tried not to shiver. “Is that pertinent?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Barton sounded resentful, but some of the coldness faded somewhat from his expression. He looked...thoughtful. “That - thing. The scepter.” He glanced away, finally, but only for a second. “It didn’t make me... _obedient._ I broke orders. Could break orders.”

 _What use would a mindless automaton be,_ Loki thought, but kept that to himself, saying nothing. 

“I could...tell. What you needed. Wanted.” Barton’s jaw tightened, relaxed. “You didn’t use that thing to make me a soldier. You made me a - a _friend._ ”

 _Keep silent,_ Loki thought. _Keep silent, keep still. Say nothing._

Barton laughed, harsh and abrupt. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s it, isn’t it. Was that on purpose or were you just so desperate for someone to care about you that it happened?” 

Loki wasn’t sure. Couldn’t remember, when he’d used the scepter, what he’d been thinking, except that he had noted _skill_ and _obstinacy_ and seen _loyalty, heart_ and known he wanted that. He’d told himself it was a tactical decision. 

But he had been _desperate._

Loki closed his eyes. “Choose your own answer,” he said wearily. “I should not think that pertinent either.” 

“It is,” Barton said, after a moment too long, something odd in his voice again. “It’s _pertinent_ to me.” 

“Why?” Loki asked dully. Barton stood, chair scraping back loudly. 

“You wanna know what I know?” He said. “I know you were scared. Basically from the get go, _terrified._ You didn’t want to stop for anything. That’s what got you here, that you wouldn’t _stop,_ wouldn’t let me-” He seemed to catch himself, and cut off. “You were running scared from something,” he said. “Makes me wonder what from. Makes me wonder why you were on this planet, alone. Seems like sloppy planning. Thor says you’re smart.” Even with his eyes closed, Loki could feel Barton’s stare boring into him. “Like I said. Desperate.” 

Loki almost held his breath. “What is the point of this?” 

“Just thinking out loud.” Barton’s voice was hard, still. “I know you’re insane. I just don’t know why.” 

“Insanity by definition has no reason,” Loki said. 

“I think yours does.” 

“Barton,” Loki said, alarm spiking, “Please. Be careful. Just - let it go. These questions are - more dangerous than you appreciate. In a few days I will be back in Asgard-” _Probably dead,_ “-and none of this will matter. Leave it - I ask you to leave it alone.”

Silence stretched out again. Finally, he heard Barton sit. “You _care,_ ” he said, under his breath, and Loki wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear. “I wasn’t sure. I wanted to know.”

Loki felt an immediate stab of shame. He’d been manipulated, and walked into it like a complete idiot. And now he’d handed Barton a weapon to use against him. 

“You were loyal,” he said, after a moment. “However coerced. And...kind. However false.”

“Not _false,_ ” Barton said after a long moment. “Not exactly.” Loki opened his eyes, startled and not a little confused. “That’s all,” Barton said after a long moment. “I wanted to know.” Loki turned his head to look at him when he heard Barton stand. “Safe trip home,” he said, after a long pause. “Don’t come back.” 

Loki stared at him, and did not find the words to reply before he was gone.

Thor rushed in only a few moments later and seemed relieved to find Loki in one piece. “I saw Clint Barton leaving here,” he said, apparently by way of explanation. 

“He had some things he wished to say,” Loki said. Selvig had not been interested in doing the same. Then, he had spent less time directly with Selvig: the Tesseract had been his focus, not Loki. 

“Things to say,” Thor said, sounding dubious. 

“Yes,” Loki said. “To me. Not you.” 

“We’ll be leaving soon,” Thor said, perhaps trying to soothe him. Loki said nothing. 

_You care,_ Barton had said, like it mattered. It didn’t, Loki thought. Nothing did, now. 

_Are they going to come after you?_

If they did, Loki thought, it would be better the Bifrost had ripped him apart. He wondered if they really had managed to remove it all, or if there might still be a splinter, deep inside. 

Growing.


End file.
